


Gwyrdd Arwar - Book the Fifth

by inspiritedmama



Series: Gwyrdd Arwar [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Child Abuse, Dobby Lives, Dumbledore Bashing, Everyone Lives Except Voldy, Fluff, Good Slytherins, M/M, Manipulative Dumbledore, Mentor Snape, Multi, Mutual Pining, Remus Lupin Lives, Ron Weasley Bashing, Severus Snape Lives, Sirius Black Lives, Slow Build, Slytherin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23235823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspiritedmama/pseuds/inspiritedmama
Summary: -- This book is a continuation of my universe in which Harry is sorted into Slytherin. The major plot points remain the same for the most part, but have been altered through the eyes of Harry being surrounded by snakes, not lions.-- I CHANGED MY MIND! THERE WILL BE SNARRY CONTENT IN THIS BOOK!!! It won't be explicit, odds are high they probably won't even kiss. LISTEN WHEN I SAID SLOW BURN I MEANT IT DAMMIT. But we're gonna have AGNST. OH BY MERLIN'S BEARD THERE WILL BE AAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGSSSSSSSSSSSSTTTTTTTTTTT-- This book IS going to include at least Harry coming to a realization about his feelings, and flirting with his professor. I'm not sure how much Snape will flirt back, we will see. Once we get into that... there will probably be a split off series that contains the EXACT SAME plot, however it has a different (age appropriate) match for Harry.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Fred Weasley, Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/George Weasley/Pansy Parkinson, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Gwyrdd Arwar [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/200404
Comments: 71
Kudos: 243





	1. The One Where Here We Go Again

**Author's Note:**

> This is... rough my friends. It's been a rough few months and now... holy hell. The world is... well y'all know.
> 
> I'm currently in quarantine, waiting on the results of my test for the virus. I'm doing alright. Please no invasive questions... support only (sorry I've had ppl be absolute wankers on other platforms). I am running a fever, so while the following makes sense to me, who knows if it makes sense to other people!
> 
> I wanted to write, I've been really wanting to get this book going for ages. And now, with everything going on I thought perhaps if I could cheer one person up it was worth it. But it is going to be in mostly rough draft format for a bit. I'm super out of practice writing, and my current focus is to get this WRITTEN and up for your escapism pleasure over really polished writing. THAT SAID, if anyone so desires to at least read through for grammar and spelling and send me corrections to inspiritedmama AT gmail DOT com I will do my best to update for that.
> 
> \-- IF something happens where additional/different content is added to earlier chapters in order to make the story make sense I *will* mention it in the chapter note before/after the current chapter so you can go back and re-read!

The summer was the kind of oppressive, sticky hot that would have been unbearable if Harry had been stuck anywhere else. He shuddered to think of the terror that Dudley and his friends were inflicting on the residents of Little Whinging. Thankfully, instead of dealing with whatever horror they might have come up with he was sat the small cafe, working on his summer homework (Snape had “helpfully” collected it for Harry from his fellow teachers), and working at Aren’s shop, organizing some of the chaos. He refused payment, insisting that he should be paying Aren and Charlie for the distraction. As wonderful as Spindleshaft Lane was it was hard being so cut off from the rest of the world. It was a larger, and far more pleasant confinement than his single, barred, room at the Dursley’s had ever been… but even with the warm cobblestone streets, the quiet conversation and laughter of the patrons, and the increased space… it was still a confinement. He had very clear boundaries on where he was allowed to go, and he was not permitted to go out of doors at night unless Snape was with him. He tried to be grateful, instead of focusing on all the ways it chaffed.

Snape had told him that Cedric was fine, his family was in seclusion somewhere… if Snape knew he was not divulging… and that he may not be at school the following year. Harry couldn’t blame them. He wasn’t sure how long Cedric had stuck around the graveyard, what all he’d seen. They hadn’t been friends before, and it seemed a little strange to send an owl now. He could just imagine what he’d write:

CEDRIC,

GLAD TO HEAR YOU ARE WELL. THANKS FOR RETURNING MY WAND. SO JUST HOW EMOTIONALLY AND MENTALLY SCARRED ARE YOU FROM WHAT YOU SAW?

HARRY

He didn’t have Draco or Blaise’s way with words, and communication from both of them had been scarce. Snape had explained why, and done his best to carry letters when he could. He knew why he couldn’t accompany Snape to any of the clandestine meetings that were taking place, and he tried not to be overly jealous of Draco living there, right in the middle of the action. Although from the sound of the handful of letters he had from Draco it sounded as though he wasn’t allowed to sit in on the meetings, and Lupin flatly refused to allow Sirius to give details. In a surprising twist… Snape had been rather forthcoming about the Order of the Phoenix.

It was, he’d explained the morning following their arrival at the flat, a society that had been formed during the first wizarding war. Dumbledore had formed it, although his involvement with the revival was extremely limited. Some Order members were in contact with him, like Arthur Weasley, but he (unlike his wife) was uncomfortable with some of the moves that the old wizard had been making. They met in London, in a large townhouse that had belonged to Sirius Black’s parents. They were busy trying to recruit, keep tabs on known Death Eaters, and protect those who might find themselves in harm’s way.

“It’s difficult,” Snape had explained, leaning back in his chair and sipping his tea, breakfast dishes still on the table. Harry appreciated that the man had waited no longer than necessary to fill him in. “No one wants to admit what’s going on, least of all the Ministry.”

“Dumbledore believes it at least? Can’t he convince them?” Harry asked, hating that it was possible the manipulative old bastard might be of some use.

Snape shook his head. “Fudge and Dumbledore have always had a rivalry. If Dumbledore wanted to be Minister of Magic, he could… and Fudge knows it.” He paused, considering his next words for a long moment, “And I’m not convinced Dumbledore is actively trying to convince them. Letting panic spread until he can step in ‘save the day’ and secure more power is a lot more his speed.”

Harry couldn’t help but agree, especially with knowing how Dumbledore had sat on the information about Sirius not being the Secret Keeper for so long. He couldn’t being to imagine what the man’s plan was, but he was certain he had one.

“The Dark Lord is keeping his head down. Not inactive… just not as noisy as I think he’d planned. You and Lucius escaping ruined his plans. No one was supposed to know until he was ready to move all at once. Now he has to rethink his strategy.”

Sipping at his own tea, Harry met Snape’s gaze and asked the one question on the forefront of his mind. “You’re going back… to spying… aren’t you?”

“I am.”

Harry had almost wished the other man had lied to him. He didn’t want to think of what Snape was going to have to go through. It didn’t take a genius to guess that many of the members of the Order of the Pheonix were not entirely convinced as to Snape’s loyalty. He heard the way that the Gryffindors spoke about their Potions Master. And the general attitude of the staff to allow it spoke volumes. Even as much as Harry knew it was part of the necessary disguise, he hated it, despite the protection it ultimately gave. The other man deserved better, especially from the so-called “good side”. 

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, not even to Snape. That he had his serious doubts. Not that he, for a second, considered joining up with the Death Eaters, or thought their position had any merit. But from where Harry sat, curled up on a couch looking out over Muggle London still ablaze with light despite the fact it was nearly midnight, the only virtue of the other side was that it opposed the Dark Lord. Not, he was quick to argue even in his own mind, that this was a small thing. The Dark Lord needed defeating once and for all, and they needed all the allies they could get to do it. They just weren’t as pure and righteous as the storybooks always said the good guys were supposed to be. Being on the right side of this didn’t erase the prejudice, the bigotry, and other evils… Whether they wanted to admit it or not there was plenty of darkness to go around both sides. And that wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Harry pulled his knees up closer to his chest, letting his thoughts tumble down their morose path as he heard the soft chime on the clocks announce it was his birthday. Snape was gone. He’d been summoned earlier that afternoon. There wasn’t time to waste when the Dark Lord called, not if he didn’t want to arouse suspicious, and Harry had been working with Aren. He’d come home to a dark home and a hastily scrawled note reminding him not to leave the flat, and that there was food in the fridge.

“Happy Birthday, Harry,” he said softly to himself and sighed.


	2. The One with a Birthday Panic Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man recovery is a BITCH.
> 
> My test came back neg, yay! Although whatever it was still knocked me on my ass. And it's been hard to get going. And then of course once I got back up and going I had so many things to catch up on. Schoolwork, housework, etc. And the world is... Well... Y E A H
> 
> But, I'm slowly settling into a new routine, adjusting to the state of things and figuring out how to do this long haul. I hope you and yours are staying safe <3
> 
> Again, this is a short chapter. But it was what I wanted it to be, if that makes sense? It didn't seem right to add on more. Probably 1 and 2 together should make a whole chapter. Odds are good once this thing is all written I'll go back and condense published chapters. But I decided to just get the writing done and up.
> 
> NOTE: This is a sad chapter. There isn't a happy resolution to this chapter (I think I was working through some things... idk). If you're not emotionally in a space for that, maybe wait until a couple more chapters are up <3

“I won’t worry. There’s no need to worry. Snape is fine.” Harry repeated this to himself as he paced the kitchen. The words bounced around the empty space. He has already scrubbed it within an inch of its life. In fact he wasn’t entirely sure than some of the wood would perhaps need a new finish after he’d vigorously attacked it with a cloth and cleaner. He’d learned many spells for cleaning a space, and he knew some Muggle born witches and wizards still insisted that magic could never quite clean the same way. Harry didn’t necessarily ascribe to that sort of thinking. But he remembered grueling, backbreaking days spent cleaning the Dursley’s house, and how he had fallen into a dead sleep at night no matter what was racing around in his brain. Sometime shortly before dawn he had forced himself to lie down on the couch and attempt to sleep. It had been a futile exercise, the couch was comfortable enough, but Harry’s worry poked and prodded at him with enough force that he was tempted to check his back for bruises.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he wanted to sleep. Harry was no stranger to nightmares, and he shuddered to think of the fun the darker parts of his mind would have once he surrendered conscious control. His waking mind offered up enough horrifying scenarios, and that was with him employing every ounce of mental self control he possessed. He couldn’t rest, couldn’t sit. It didn’t make sense, but this felt different than the other times that Snape had been gone. It wasn’t, he told himself stubbornly, because Snape was missing his birthday. He wasn’t a child, he was fifteen now, and there was definitely something more than just pouting because he was spending his birthday alone. 

They had agreed not to send Hedwig for letters. The small white owl was far too recognizable, and although Snape had every confidence in the magic of Spindleshaft Lane, he did not see a reason to test it unnecessarily. The wards had held for as long as anyone could remembered, no one knew exactly how long the sanctuary had existed. But Snape was not aware of a time when the wards had been challenged directly. It was one thing to withhold against a random witch or wizard who happened to stray too close, or a Muggle with no idea what lay beyond. Even a witch or wizard who might suspect something was but a single magic user. Had someone of Voldemort, or Dumbledore’s strength ever tried to push past the protective magic, or brought an army with them, he was not certain what may happen. And neither Snape nor Harry were willing to put the other residents at risk. Snape’s bird was gone, as he often was on some business, and it was still far too early to go to the post office or ask Charlie and Aren if he could borrow their owl. Although he knew they’d have been happy to help in the case of emergency, that would have meant explaining the emergency to them, not something Harry felt equipped to do. Was it even an emergency? Snape had been gone before, he would be gone again. It was part of his job as a spy, and Harry knew that. Knew it was for his protection, for the protection of the whole wizarding world. There was nothing to indicate this was out of the ordinary, anything other than him assigning extra importance because it just happened to be his birthday.

“I won’t worry. There’s no need to worry. Snape is fine.” The words continued to sound hollow. Against his will, visions of the graveyard flashed across his mind. There was absolutely no guarantee that Snape was fine. The walls of the apartment felt as though they were closing in on him and he put his hand on the kitchen table to steady himself, pausing his pacing as he struggled to bring his breathing back under control. He could feel his heart beat in his throat, hear it thundering in his ears. It pounded and raced until he wondered if it may well shatter out of his ribcage. It was no use telling himself to calm down, a panic attack didn’t work that way. Especially not when there were so many good reasons to worry. What if the Dark Lord had discovered Snape had been the one holding Harry? Dumbledore knew, would the man be so vindictive, so petty as to tip his card? Not himself of course, but through intermediaries let it be known that Snape was a traitor? The thought was a gut punch, instead of racing on his heart stopped and he felt the chill of just how likely such a scenario was reach down and strangle him. Removing Snape would be an almost guaranteed way to flush Harry out of hiding.

“I’m a fucking wizard, there has to be something I can do.” He’d see patronuses used to deliver messages, and felt confident he could probably figure it out, but wherever Snape was, odds were good that it wasn’t somewhere that a patronus from Harry Potter, asking if he was okay and would he be back in time for birthday cake, would go unnoticed. “Fuck!” he felt his anxiety buzzing under his skin, crawling up his spine, spreading little tendrils of electricity, zapping at him, twitch his body. He had to do something, could feel the need to fix it trying to claw its way out of his body and force him to obey. 

There was something else. The cold, calculating logic that Snape had spent so many hours nurturing. Conversations, questions, debates, all feeding the rational part of Harry’s mind. And it was that crystal clear logic that fought through in the midst of the turmoil to clamp down the need to do something, anything, with the knowledge that there was nothing he could do that did not carry with it the risk of making it all worse. He didn’t have enough information. Didn’t know enough. Blundering in now would cost lives, Snape’s life, or his own, not save them. Perhaps in the future there would be a time where the risk was worth it. Staring down a situation so dark that diving in blind was the only reasonable course of action. It was not now. And the fire of that knowledge burned through Harry’s veins with a cold heat that threatened to spontaneously combust him.

“FUCK!” he shouted, channeling the energy slithering through him into a rage seemed to help, somewhat. But the relief was short-lived, and Harry wasn’t inclined to spend however long it took for Snape to return standing in the middle of the apartment, shouting swear words to the sky, or ceiling as the case was. He grabbed a mug off the counter where it sat drying and threw it across the room. Listening in perverse satisfaction to the sound of it exploding on impact with the brick. The pieces falling to the floor.

“Fuck…” he half sobbed as he sank to his knees and pressed his forehead to the cool brick of the fireplace. “Fuck.”


	3. The One Where The Author Said "Fuck It"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... wow. Holy fuckballs the world's a bit of a shitshow, innit? Let's have just a little chat, making something clear.
> 
> She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the TERF Dark Lord herself can fek right off.
> 
> Look I gotta be honest. Y'all know I haven't updated in ages, probably most think this book was abandoned. And my dirty little secret is that it was. Between the pandemic, school stress, clinicals, and then the incredibly disheartening transphobic comments made by the author of the canon... this fic was abandoned for a little bit. I needed to work through some things. If you agree with what she's been saying, if you are "gender critical"... this series isn't for you. I'm telling you right now, I do not want you reading my work. You have no place to enjoy anything I've written. 
> 
> There's more... Me and my work are about trans inclusive feminism. I'm also a supporter of the Black Lives Matter movement. I'm not saying I'm perfect, I have a lot of privilege and it's a process every day to unlearn things I was taught, things I've been socialized to accept. But I'm owning that, and committing to the process. If you can't hear "Black lives matter" without jumping in with "all lives matter"... my work isn't for you. This work is by a queer woman who believes strongly in dismantling systemic racism and is committed to financially supporting it as well as voting for it whenever I can. 
> 
> As a fanfic writer, I of course don't charge money for my work. But what I can do is tell you that if you're anti trans, if you're anti queer, if you're anti-antifa (or you know, a fascist as it's typically called), if you're anti-BLM... I think y'all get where I'm going... if you're against the things I believe in, my work is not for you. And if you're all those things, and my words don't matter at all to you so you're going to keep reading... well I'm going to ask you to consider that. To consider why you think you have the right to my work after I have explicitly told you that you don't. Consent is for more than just sex ;)
> 
> Why do I say all this? Well, sometimes it's not enough to be against something. "Oh well I don't really agree with homophobia, but you know there's very fine people..." No. There are some things that are not for debate. It's not enough to be against the bad thing, you have to be FOR the good thing. Neutrality is siding with the oppressor. And I felt like it was important that I make a statement to be entirely clear, without debate, on where I stand.
> 
> NONE of this is up for debate. I won't be responding to comments that attempt to tell me why these human rights that I support are wrong. I'll be deleting them. Full stop.
> 
> Now that I've got that off my chest... there's more...................................
> 
> I CHANGED MY MIND! THERE WILL BE SNARRY CONTENT IN THIS BOOK!!! It won't be explicit, odds are high they probably won't even kiss. LISTEN WHEN I SAID SLOW BURN I MEANT IT DAMMIT. But we're gonna have ANGST. OH BY MERLIN'S BEARD THERE WILL BE AAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGSSSSSSSSSSSSTTTTTTTTTTT
> 
> Look, idk about y'all... but I have been waiting for fucking EVER for there to be a lil Snarry up in this business. We're coming up on a year in this godforsaken pandemic, we've lost a lot, the world has gone to shit, we trying to superglue it back together and fix stuff while folks be ACTIVELY trying to blow it all up. 
> 
> FUCK
> 
> IT.
> 
> We getting ourselves some Snarry. Probably not anything beyond MAYBE a very angsty kiss for this book. But we're moving into MUTUAL pining as of right the fuck now. I wanna write it, I know some of y'all want to read it, may 2021 be the year we stop denying ourselves the good things in life - like 500k+ slow burns. (now taking recs for any and all Snarry, Drarry and Snapexfemale student fics - DO NOT JUDGE ME SO HELP ME GOD)
> 
> At some point, I'm going to write a non-ship version of this... maybe. Idk. Like, that's the plan? But also I kinda just want to fall in love with writing again, so I'm writing what I want and thinking less about how some pearl-clutching ninny is, well, clutching her pearls.

Snape cursed as he stumbled through the quiet streets of Spindleshaft Lane. “Fuck,” he muttered as pain shot up his leg from his thigh. The spell he’d cast was keeping any blood on, if not IN, his body, so he wasn’t worried about leaving a trail, not that such worries were on his mind presently. It was the stupidest thing, he had so many things to be concerned about, and he was worried about missing Harry’s birthday. It was dark, he didn’t have a watch but he’d wager that it was getting close to midnight. If he hurried… he laughed derisively at himself. Harry wasn’t a child anymore and it wasn’t as though Snape was going to throw him a party with balloons and a clown.

Harry hadn’t said anything. He’d taken to their isolation well, spending much of his time working with Aren and Charlie. He knew the young man wasn’t expecting visitors, or a to-do. But Snape was determined not to let the day pass without some acknowledgment. From what he gathered of Harry’s life with the Dursley’s, he’d not had many good birthdays. The least he could do was be there. He cursed again, the flat was in sight, but he wasn’t sure his leg was going to make it. The inability to Apparate in or out of Spindleshaft Lane was damned inconvenient. Pain warped through his body. Snape had a lot of experience hiding pain, physical and otherwise, but the tangled web of searing hot fire that wove around his body threatened his limits. He stumbled, his vision swimming, and then felt himself press against something solid. A strong arm wrapped around him and he winced at the pressure. It eased, but only just, transferring his weight onto the other person.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Snape managed before he slipped into unconsciousness.

His return to the land of the living was slow. Nothing seemed steady as he opened his eyes and tried to focus. Harry was slumped into a chair, drug in from the living room. Snape lay in his bed. His torn and blood-soaked robes were gone and he was in a pair of boxers. Most of the blood was gone, although he had the distinct sense he’d been Scourgified, not bathed. His thigh was bandaged, he felt the firm pressure of a cloth wrapped securely around the wound. On the nightstand there were several emptied vials. His eyes slowly focused on the labels and scanned them, nodding approvingly. When his attention flicked back to the figure in the chair, a pair of bright green eyes met his gaze.

Harry swallowed thickly and shifted in his chair. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, looking back at Snape uncertainly. “Are they alright?” he asked, gesturing to the array of bottles on the nightstand. “I tried to remember, from class… but they didn’t exactly cover… this.”

Snape nodded. The movement felt like his head was bouncing. “Did you ask anyone else for help?”

Harry was already shaking his head before Snape finished asking. “Just me, I figured… I mean… I didn’t think you’d -” he flushed.

“Thank you.” Snape watched Harry’s reaction curiously. He’d removed Snape’s dirty clothes, changed the older man into his boxers and put him to bed. The thought warmed Snape in a way he was determined not to consider. The pain draught, he insisted to himself, they were a luxury he typically did not allow himself. Preferring a clear, sharp mind to the befuddled and unpredictable wanderings of a mind clouded with pain-killers. Harry’s flush wasn’t uncomfortable, he didn’t think, his damned mind could not be trusted currently. But he wasn’t running away in terror, that was something, he supposed. No, he would not suppose. There was nothing for Snape here, down this particular path. It was a luxury, like the pain killer. Still, his thoughts whispered, would it hurt to just relax into it, for once? 

“Are you, going to be okay?”

Snape nodded. “I will be fine. A few days to recover. Not the first time.”

At the reminder of how Snape had suffered, probably at the hands of both sides of the war, Harry frowned. His green eyes looked pained as he nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Not a single ounce of this pain is on your shoulders, Harry,” Snape insisted, surprising them both the vehemence of his words. “The relief of it however, is entirely your fault.” Snape let his voice slip into a teasing tone, soft and almost playful. He was well aware of the appeal of his voice, and his muddled mind was curious to watch its effect on Harry. He was rewarded with a flush. Would it hurt to relax into it, just this once? He shifted in the bed, tugging down the blankets. “I would like to see your handiwork for myself.”

Harry blinked and coughed, then helped Snape pull the blankets down below his knees. Harry’s gaze seemed determined to look anywhere but at the sleek muscles under the pale, bruised, skin… and yet he struggled to look away. Snape watched the battle with interest, his drugged mind winning his own battle. The bandage was clean and neat. Angry red streaks up his thigh and down his leg pulled his mind from its hazy musings into the serious present. Harry noticed as well.

“It’s infected,” he said, voice shaking just slightly. “I tried to clean it as best I could.” His left hand tightened around his right, wringing his hands unconsciously.

Snape leaned forward and put his long thin fingers around both Harry’s hands, stilling them. “Not. Your. Fault. The wound had been open, and dirty, for hours before you saw to it. That the infection hasn’t spread more is a testament to your care. Did you put something on it?”

Harry froze when Snape’s hand touched him. He nodded. “I, the essence of murtlap. I remember Pansy talking about it.”

“Very good. We will need something stronger though, I’m afraid. Which means changing the bandage.” Snape paused. He’d bandaged himself up more times than he could count, it was awkward and sometimes less than ideal, but he wasn’t inclined to ring for a Mediwitch. It had been a while, but he thought he could manage. He considered. The sight of the infection had cleared his mind somewhat, pushing wayward thoughts back into dark corners. But it was a fact that Harry’s help would be welcome. Could he risk it? He hadn’t realized how deeply he’d withdrawn into his own thoughts until he heard a the soft sound of Harry clearing his throat. He must have left and returned because he was carrying a pair of scissors in one hand, and a fresh roll of linen in the other.

“Which potion do you want to dress it with, sir?” Harry asked steadily. Whatever embarrassment or emotion might have been present earlier, Snape already doubted the foggy recollections, Harry was focused and clear. He wouldn’t disrespect the young man by sending him away and refusing his help.

“A yellow bottle, in my private stores. No, not those,” he stopped Harry before he could head back towards the small lab he’d set up. “In the wardrobe, top shelf. Give me your hand.” Harry held out his hand and Snape took it gently. He held one hand between his palms. He closed his eyes and muttered under his breath, a warmth grew where their skin touched and a rune flared briefly on Harry’s palm before disappearing. “Locking ward,” he explained, nodding for Harry to retrieve the vial, “Of my own making. A little nastier than your average ward,” he chuckled.

“You’ll have to teach me how to do that someday,” Harry said as he opened the wardrobe with the hand Snape had spelled. The yellow bottle was easy to spot, Snape intentionally kept it safe but convenient, and Harry was back at his side in moments. He set the jar on the side table and picked up the scissors. “I’ll be quick,” he said as he placed one hand on Snape’s sinewy thigh and started carefully cutting the bandages far from the wound.

Please take your time came the unbidden thought and Snape growled deep in his chest.

Harry froze. “Did I hurt you?” His green eyes were wide with panic behind his glasses, skin paler than normal.

Snape tried, and failed, to remember the last time someone had asked him that. Had anyone, ever? He could not recall, perhaps as a very small child. The thought sobered him, and pulled his mind from the way the firm, gentle hand had felt on his skin. He shook his head, “No, you are fine. Please, continue.” He kept a firm check on his, whatever they were, while Harry finished cutting off the cloth. It peeled away from the wound with little difficulty and Harry tossed it into the fire. Snape looked at the wound, his lips pressed thin. “Three drops, across the incision,” he instructed. 

As Harry worked Snape waited for the questions he knew must be circling the young man’s mind. He could see it, even without Legilimency it was clear Harry was curious about who or what had wounded him. What he was doing. But he kept quiet, his hands worked quickly after he had administered the potion, already Snape could feel the heat retreating from his thigh. Replaced with an altogether other kind of heat each time Harry’s fingers brushed his skin that he was decidedly NOT thinking about. Leg rebandaged, blankets replaced, Harry made to leave the older man’s bedroom. The words were out of Snape’s mouth before he could stop himself.

“I’m sure you have questions.”

Harry paused, he looked back into the room and nodded. “I do, but I figured you already knew that, and if you wanted to give me the answers, you would. You’ve done a lot for me, sir, and I figure the least I could do is be one person who wasn’t asking for more than you wanted to give.

Snape nodded his approval. “If you are not too tired, I will answer what I can. It may not be as much as you would wish, but you have more than earned the right to at least have your questions heard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give a monster shoutout to literally everyone who has still be reading this, especially y'all who leave such kind notes. And a not so little thank you to Bazilette who has been reading through the series and leaving such very nice comments that it's reignited my desire to write this again.

**Author's Note:**

> Short, I know... getting started is the WORST.


End file.
